


I know why you do this

by Apuzzlingprince



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Anal, M/M, Masturbation, Sleep Deprivation, drug-induced psychosis, hallucination!Oswald, s3e15 based
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-24 00:20:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10730316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apuzzlingprince/pseuds/Apuzzlingprince
Summary: Edward’s hallucination knows what Edward needs, much to Edward’s chagrin.





	I know why you do this

It didn’t matter how many times Edward took the pills; whenever Oswald appeared in those sodden, threadbare clothes Edward had killed him in, it was always jarring. He had a limpet on his shoulder this time. With some difficulty, Oswald pried it off and threw it onto Edward’s – or Oswald’s rather – floorboards. Edward had already started to descend to his knees to retrieve it before he remembered it wasn’t real.

Oswald smiled down at him, his lips faintly black and skin shiny with moisture. Flustered, Edward quickly resumed standing with his hands folded in front of him, his gaze on the ground, on the limpet that was steadily fading from his psyche. The little things that were extracted from Oswald’s body usually disappeared within a few minutes.

“I know why you do this,” murmured Oswald.

It was obvious what ‘this’ meant.

Edward raised his head just enough to meet Oswald’s gaze. His eyes were a dark, pitiless blue, deprived of their former near luminescence. Oswald’s irises had always seemed almost ethereal before his death.

“There are two reasons,” said Edward in a soft, measured voice. “I need the pills to remain awake, and I value your input.”

“I wasn’t asking a question.”

“Then I…” Edward hesitated. “Don’t know what you mean,” he admitted reluctantly.

Oswald snorted and shook his head. Droplets sprayed from his slick black hair. “You do know what I mean. You’re just not admitting it to yourself.” He started to walk in a slow semi-circle around Edward, prowling like a predator cornering its prey. “You’ve started taking those pills excessively since you realized they made you hallucinate. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

Edward swallowed. “I didn’t know they would do that.”

“You had an inkling.”

“I…” ‘Wasn’t hoping’ was what he’d meant to say, but it would have been a lie and Edward wasn’t much of a liar. His mouth shut with a clack of teeth.

Oswald smiled toothily at him, all white, rotting gums and yellow teeth. A shudder rolled down Edward’s spine. “Allow me to elucidate, my dear friend.” He came to a stop at Edward’s side, leaning in so close that Edward could feel a phantom chill crawling up his arm. Goosepimples rose on his flesh closest to Oswald. “You call me here because you need someone to make you _weak_. You need _repentance_. That’s why you stand there and do _nothing_ while I criticize you, because you know you needed Oswald and this is some sick, twisted self-flagellation.”

At these words, Edward’s heart thudded painfully behind his rib cage. He was used to Oswald saying awful things to him, but this – this was new, and it was worse than anything that had come prior.

“That- that isn’t true,” he protested, his voice tremulous despite his best efforts to remain calm. He hated how easy it was for Oswald to make him come apart, even in his own mind, on his own terms. “I don’t need him,” he continued in a snarl. “I never did. I can ascend beyond him, and I have every intention of doing so.”

Oswald mouth was suddenly by his ear, as cold as ice and voice a soft whisper. “You know what they say, Ed: denial is not just a river in Egypt.”

He jolted out of Oswald's vicinity, twisting away, seeking refuge. That had felt far too real.

It was his sleep deprivation. It was making things worse.

How long had he been awake-?

“Almost three days,” Oswald provided.

Oswald was standing in front of him now and Edward almost went walking into him, managing to stop himself just prior to their bodies colliding.

Or… not colliding, rather, because he wasn’t real, was he?

“Get a grip,” he murmured to himself, sliding his fingers beneath his glasses to wipe his eyes. It was just a hallucination. He could get rid of it if he wanted to.

“But do you want to?” asked Oswald, and Edward was finding it increasingly frustrating that this Oswald always knew exactly what was on his mind.

“I don’t know why you’re bothering to ask seeing as you have all answers, apparently.” When he gave his lips a nervous lick, he could taste the faint remnants of the pill he had just swallowed. It had a very strong, bitter flavour that lingered on the back of his tongue long after consumption. You weren’t supposed to break the capsule; in fact, that was dangerous, but he didn’t have the patience to wait for the capsule to dissolve so he could see Oswald.

He plucked his now-cool cup of tea from the table and took a sip. His hand noticeably shook. “I need to sleep.”

“Yes, you do,” agreed Oswald. “You need a great many things, in fact, but I’m only going to be able to provide you with _one_ of them.”

The fine china clacked together as Edward gingerly set the cup and saucer back upon the table, turning to better address Oswald. His – _former_ friend was now leaning against the bare length of wall behind the desk, gazing steadily at Edward, unblinking. It was always unsettling how little he blinked.

“What do you mean, ‘one of them’?” he asked.

“I want to give you something.” Oswald beckoned him over with a curling finger. “Come here, Ed.”

Edward didn’t oblige straight away. He needed to know what Oswald had planned for him, first.

For a product of his mind, Oswald could be surprisingly unpredictable sometimes.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m your hallucination, so nothing you don’t want.”

“You’ve already done several things I don’t want.”

“Quite a paranoid one, aren’t you?” Oswald sighed. “I just want to help you relax, that’s all. I promise.”

After a moments consideration, Edward took a slow, cautious step towards Oswald. The fine hairs on the back of his neck were starting to stand up.

In what, though - anxiety? Anticipation? Edward didn’t know.

Oswald continued to encourage him closer. “That’s it, Ed. Come on, almost there. Just a few more steps, and…”

Edward came to a stop before Oswald.

“So you can still follow instructions! Fantastic.”

Edward pressed his mouth into a thin, unhappy line and glanced longingly at the entrance to his bedroom, though he had no intention of leaving until he found out how exactly Oswald intended to relax him. He was curious, and he… he supposed he missed Oswald enough to let this happen regardless of how miserable Oswald’s games usually made him.

The frantic tempo of his pulse increased as Oswald gently guided him to the wall, scarcely touching him while Edward moved into the position he knew instinctively that Oswald wanted him in. He positioned his palms on either side of the window so he could peer past the twisted mental grilles and into the lush back yard. It was late evening and every blade of grass and every tree was bathed in the faint luminescence given off by the moon.

When they hadn’t been embroiled in mayoral dramas they had enjoyed quiet evenings in this very room, idly discussing the day’s events over cups of tea and scones prepared by the housemaid.

Edward swallowed hard, closing his eyes.

“Shh, don’t fret,” he heard Oswald whisper. “Don’t think about that. Think about this.” The apparitions hands descended to his sides and he could almost feel them there, a faint pressure just above his hips. “Think about me touching you. Think about how that would feel.”

He could just imagine it – the queer coolness of Oswald’s hands skating over his bare skin, his heavy breaths rolling up the length of his neck and cooling the bobs of his spine, Oswald’s fingers delving lower, lower, undoing his belt buckle and sliding beneath his waistband, and all the while Oswald would be grinding languidly against him, making his intentions known.

But _that_ part of him would be _warm_.

Edward leaned further into the window, forehead colliding gently with the glass. He was too tired and thoroughly drugged to prevent his thoughts from drifting into such iniquitous territory.

“You’re – you’re making me think like this,” he muttered, squirming at the uncomfortable tightness of his trousers. “You’re doing this to me.”

“You’re doing this to yourself. You want this.” He could almost feel Oswald bending over him, chest to his back, water sliding down his shoulders and soaking into the fine material of his jacket. There was a wet hand fumbling with his belt buckle – no, that was his _own_ hand, and it pulled his belt out from its loops and let it fall to the floor.

Edward had never thought he could be so depraved.

“You would love this, wouldn’t you? Love to have him pin you against the window and have his way with you,” continued Oswald in a murmur. “You would love to be owned so thoroughly by me.”

Edward caught his bottom lip between his teeth. From head to toe, he was warm and shivery, struggling to maintain a grip on his last scraps of resistance. His breaths rattled out of him.

This wasn’t real. There were no hands under his shirt, sliding over the hollows of his ribs and clawing into the pale skin. There was no tongue sliding over the shell of his ear, soothing the heated flesh, and there certainly wasn’t a sizable bulge pressed to the curve of his ass.

“Did you ever think about it? About me taking you? Did you ever wonder what it would feel like?”

“No,” he answered hoarsely.

Oswald smiled against his skin. “Liar.”

A hand pushed his trousers down until they were bunched around his thighs and then fisted itself around his cock, and Edward had to remind himself it was his own hand, not Oswald’s that was stroking him.

“If fulfilled so many of your needs, but Edward Nygma needs to be guided, to be _dominated_ , and that... _terrified_ you. It terrified you that I could have done that and _more_.”

“S-shut up,” he gasped, bracing himself against the glass while he stroked himself. His voice lacked conviction.

Oswald clucked his tongue. “You can’t even masturbate properly without my guidance.” Cool, wet fingers ghosted between his ass cheeks, and Edward eyes flew open as he jolted in surprise, rattling the window on its hinges.

Oswald laughed. “How about you find something nice, and thick, and long and get it in say, three to four inches?”

Edward face burned in humiliation. This was _ridiculous_ ; Oswald was a product of his own frazzled mind. He should have been able to offer up some sort of retort, but he couldn’t think of anything.

“Now, what could you possibly use?” murmured Oswald. Edward turned just enough to watch in his peripheral vision as Oswald searched his drawers. He wasn’t a man who masturbated often, so he wasn’t far off completion. If he finished fast, finished before Oswald found something, perhaps he could go to bed and forget he had ever humiliated himself in this manner.

He wasn’t so lucky.

“How about this?” Oswald was twirling a letter opener between his nimble fingers, it’s beautiful emerald handle glinting under the overhead light. Oswald had gifted it to him on his first day at the office. It had sentimental value, and Edward’s arousal flagged just slightly as Oswald placed it on the edge of the table and gestured for him to retrieve it.

(He was sure the letter opener had always been there; his mind was just omitting things to better accommodate Oswald’s presence. Hallucinations couldn’t manipulate ones surroundings, after all.)

“It has a blade,” he forced out. “I’ll hurt myself.”

“I wasn’t about to suggest you put it in blade first,” said Oswald with a snort. “Of course, you did kill me, so I’m not _entirely_ opposed if you want to try that.”

“You gave it to me as a gift,” he added. “I shouldn’t sully it.”

“Honestly, Ed, I’m sure I would be _thrilled_ if I had ever found out you’d masturbated anally with _anything_ I gave you.” He slid closer to Edward, the tips of his fingers just barely skating up Edward’s thigh. “Come on, I know you want to find out what it feels like, and no one else is going to do it for you.” Oswald smiled wickedly, eyelids lowering. “You killed the only man worthy of you so this is the best you’ll get.”

“Oswald-”

“ _Do it_ , Ed. This isn’t up for debate.”

With a petulant frown curling on his lips, Edward reached back and snatched the letter opener from the table, clutching it in one sweaty, shaking hand. He knew exactly what to do next; it needed lubrication, but he looked to Oswald for further instructions regardless.

God, he was pathetic, taking instructions from a hallucination of the best friend he’d long ago sent to the depths of the ocean.

And somehow that thought only made him _harder_.

“Lick it,” commanded Oswald, observing him through half-lidded eyes. He liked the idea of that, of Oswald watching him debase himself.

Edward quickly squeezed his eyes shut.

 _Don’t think. Don’t think._ He wasn’t doing this for the sexual gratification; he was doing this so he could sleep.

“You’re such a bad liar,” murmured Oswald. He felt the phantom chill of a cool hand guide the handle of the letter opener into his mouth. It was a lovely, large, and round ornate handle, which made it quite convenient for its current purpose.

The first licks were small and kitten-like, and then the chill encouraged it deeper into his mouth and he sucked it in, wetting it from top to bottom with the flat of his tongue.

He didn’t even need Oswald to direct him for the next part, sliding the utensil out of his mouth and reaching between his legs, probing for his entrance. Upon finding it, he slowly, cautiously pushed the tip in, and breathed a hiss past clenched teeth.

“Hurts.”

“You’ve never put anything in there before. Of course it’s going to hurt.”

Edward bit his lip and pressed it in a little further, going slowly, inch by inch until he reached the end of the hilt. He could go no further without risking an encounter with _blade_.

It still hurt despite being fully sheathed. He wasn’t sure why he’d let Oswald talk him into this.

“You talked yourself into this,” said Oswald, and now he could feel the man’s chest against his back, cold and absent of a heartbeat. Or maybe that was just the chilly night air – it was hard to say.

“Move it in an upward motion. You’ll know when you find your prostate.”

It was a most shameful thing to have an apparition of your best friend direct you into fucking yourself on a letter opener, but Edward did it anyway, carefully pushing the hilt up toward the approximate location of his sweet spot. He knew vaguely where it was because he’d read many a medical textbook during his forensic course.

Oswald laughed softly in his ear. “Only you would think of textbooks while doing something like this.”

Even if he’d wanted to reply, he couldn’t have, for it was at that moment that the smooth metal top of the hilt reached that lovely little place he had been looking for. His legs became weak at the slight contact, knees buckling. It took incredible self-control to merely slide down the window rather than collapse in a heap on the floor.

“Oh- oh,” was all he managed to say, because it felt incredible, euphoric. Better even than any actual sex he’d had.

He pressed the letter opener in again, and again, reveling in the delectable sensations it provided.

On some rational level he imagined what an embarrassing sight he must have been: bent over on the floor, chest against the wall, shaking hand maneuvering the hilt of a letter opener against the surface of his prostate, but the spasms of pleasure drove away any self-awareness that might have prompted him to stop.

All the while Oswald was grinding against him, murmuring to him, fingers sliding over his skin and breath rolling against the back of his neck, provoking gooseflesh.

“I could have been so good to you, Ed. Given you all this,” whispered Oswald between heavy breaths. There was a slick, fleshy sound, like Oswald was stroking himself in tandem with Edward’s thrusts. “I would have given you this whenever you wanted, and I would have wanted it just as much. Not like those others – they never could have love you like I did.”

Little gasps and whimpers rolled out of his throat and intermingled with the sound of Oswald’s heavy panting. His legs were shaking so hard that his knees would undoubtedly be bruised later.

“I would have thrown you onto my desk and sunk my cock into you if I’d had the chance.”

Edward pressed his cheek into the wall, sending his glasses askew. He could feel them pressing an indent into his face and he didn’t have the presence of mind to care.

“Oswald,” he moaned.

“You would have _screamed_ my name.”

“Oswald,” he said again, his mind turning fuzzy and thoughts indistinct as his orgasm peaked. “Oswald!” His voice increased in volume with the growing pressure around the base of his cock and Oswald was upon him, biting bruises into his neck and snarling against his skin, whispering ownership into every pore.

Mine, mine, mine.

Yours, yours, yours.

“Oswald!” he cried, and then there was a rush of pleasure unlike anything else Edward had ever experienced. It extended from his abdomen and raced through his veins, sent his heart thundering and his head swimming. He might’ve blacked out if he hadn’t been on his knees.

He climaxed amid a paroxysm of shuddering pleasure and then slumped over, a panting, sweaty mess with come covering his belly and thighs.

It took him several long moments to find the energy to extract the letter opener and toss it across the room.

“Goodness, Oswald, that was incredible,” he said, laughing, and it was only when he glanced over his shoulder and saw the empty room that he remembered Oswald wasn’t really here, was currently at the bottom of the harbor being feasted upon by aquatic life.

Even the hallucination had left him.

He was alone.


End file.
